


wild and free

by bangandawhimper



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Bites, as usual, but with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangandawhimper/pseuds/bangandawhimper
Summary: Akira Kurusu hasn’t always been an omega.At least, that’s what he thinks. But now everyone he meets in this city assumes he’s an omega. He’s treated like an omega. He feels like an omega.He knows he feels like an omega because he remembers what it was to be an alpha.[Written for day 31 of Kinktober 2020]
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 16
Kudos: 349





	wild and free

Akira Kurusu is an alpha.

Akira Kurusu has always been an alpha, ever since he presented at birth. That’s how this works. His parents told him he was an alpha. His school registered him as an alpha. He felt like an alpha—or at least he thought he did.

He did, up until the night two police officers arrest him for a crime he didn’t commit.

They muscle him into the back of their car, whisk him away without listening to a word he says. Akira tries to reason with them through the cage in the police car, through the paralyzing fear clawing at his throat. He tries and tries and tries and tries until something inside him finally breaks and goes quiet.

Now he sits, alone, on an uncomfortable chair. They wouldn’t let him call his parents. The cloying scents of the station—plastic and bleach and rust and metal—are overwhelming to the point of being painful. And the coup de grâce: cuffs around his wrists and ankles. A muzzle strapped on his face. All constant reminders that no, this is not a nightmare.

So Akira waits, trapped and cold and confused, for these shitty, corrupt, _wrong_ adults to decide his fate.

“What the hell else are we supposed to do?” one of the officers mutters, though he clearly doesn’t care if Akira hears.

“Kind of a whack job, ain’t he?”

“Oh, so you wanna put him in the alpha cell? You really wanna do that? We got three drunks in there and I’m not dealing with any fuckin’ paperwork if they decide they want a snack.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Fine,_ ” the smaller officer snaps. “Put him in with the other omegas, then.”

“That’s right.”

“But I’m—” Akira speaks up quietly. He shrinks into himself out of reflex when the officers’ heads snap to him, swallows down the childish self-soothing purrs that keep rumbling stunted in his chest. It’s embarrassing as hell because he’s sixteen now, basically full grown, and “I-I’m an alpha.”

The officers stare at him a moment, like he’s something small and disgusting, then turn back to each other.

“Jesus,” the angerier one says with a whistle. Akira curls in on himself even further.

“See? Fuckin’ stupid, right?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Akira Kurusu is… an omega?

Akira Kurusu hasn’t always been an omega—at least, that’s what he thinks. But now everyone he meets in this city assumes he’s an omega. He’s treated like an omega. He feels like an omega.

He knows he feels like an omega because he remembers what it was to be an alpha. 

Feelings are muddy and complicated, obviously. And dynamics aren’t hard lines that completely determine someone’s personality, obviously. And Akira is going through kind of a lot right now, obviously. But he knows—he _knows_ something has changed. Something is different.

The internet is not helpful at all.

Akira spends his first nights in Tokyo lying on his side on a shitty mattress on shitty milk crates in a shitty attic scrolling on his phone through research papers, news articles, message boards, anything and everything that could help explain what the fuck is happening to him.

“ _It’s biology_ ,” one commenter explains on a conspiracy theory article from three years ago. The theory explains how the government is adding chemicals to the water supply to turn more of the population into omegas and… well, it’s stupid. It’s really dumb. Akira is desperate.

“ _Dynamics can’t be changed, dipshit. OP should either read one (1) book or go back to 4th grade, whichever one their tiny brain can handle._ ”

So… okay, so maybe he should have paid more attention in biology class. But that commenter can still go fuck themselves because dynamics _can_ change, Akira _was_ an alpha.

He couldn’t have dreamed up those innate feelings of protectiveness, power and responsibility. Didn’t imagine all those late nights in his bed, fucking into his hand, lusting after having some faceless, writhing, dripping omega to satisfy and ruin.

But now all he can think about is being that omega. Now he thinks about building a safe and comfortable space, ensnaring an alpha, and letting them rail him into the ground inside of it. Being fucked and knotted until he can’t move and then fucked and knotted some more.

And he’s been getting… he’s been getting wet. Which is also new.

Akira tosses and turns, tangles himself in his shitty thin sheet, worries over tomorrow morning. His first day of school. His first day of school in a city, as a delinquent, as an omega. Fuck, if he’s an omega now—what if he accidentally goes into heat during a school day? One of his old classmates did and it was… intense.

Akira has never had a heat. He would have had at least one by now if he really were an omega all along. Wouldn’t he?

He turns again, punches his shitty lumpy pillow down. He doesn’t know what the hell he is. He doesn’t even know if it’s possible for him to go into heat, or rut, or anything. He doesn’t know if he can have a mate now.

He never wanted a family before, he’s sixteen years old, but all this omega shit is fucking with his head and now the option might not even be there which is fucking with him even more and he still has a year’s worth of probation to get through before he can even start his shitty ruined life and, and, and, _and_.

He doesn’t understand anything.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Then—ah, then he suddenly understands everything.

“ _Call upon my name, and release thy rage!_ ”

Akira discovers the Metaverse. Cognition. Shadows.

Personas.

Akira is different, it turns out. He alone is special. That was the simple, stupid answer all along.

He shifts back into his familiar alpha dynamic with Arsène, learns the beta dynamic from Pixie. After a few more days and a bit of practice Akira can change his dynamic at will, even in reality, as easily as slipping on a new mask.

The world is open to him now. He has a partner, a gang, and a mission. He’s an omega for Tae Takemi, an alpha for Munehisa Iwai, a beta for Toranosuke Yoshida.

Akira is whatever he needs to be for everyone he meets.

Akira is different, special, and alone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


So maybe that’s why he falls a little too hard for Goro Akechi.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Akira-kun,” Akechi croons. He’s currently nibbling away at a spot near Akira’s ear, his hand is firmly on Akira’s thigh, and Akira is so confused and horny that he’s probably going to die. “Don’t you want more of me?”

God. Yes. They’ve only just started but yes. Akira has no idea what he’s doing but yes. Yes. Yesyesyesyes—

“Uh,” Akira says.

Akechi chuckles, writhes against him in a way that makes Akira’s already struggling brain stutter to a complete stop.

So, Goro Akechi.

Akechi is… Akechi is weird. There’s no way around it. He’s just odd.

Akechi is an omega. A lot of people are omegas, like Ryuji and Haru. Just to name a few. And so is Goro Akechi. His scent is an omega’s—something sweet and flowery that’s tough for Akira to nail down any further because he’s too busy huffing it like a big dumb animal. And Akechi acts like an omega. Most of the time.

Most of the time.

Akira shifts on his ugly uncomfortable couch, turns Akechi back towards him so he can kiss him again. Their teeth immediately clack together. He hopes Akechi didn’t notice.

It’s that “most of the time” that really gets Akira. Maybe Akechi is socially awkward or maybe Akira is imagining things, but “most of the time” it feels like Akechi is… faking it? Like he knows all the rules but forgets to follow them sometimes. Like he’s wearing an omega skin-suit.

And maybe Akira is into that, because Akira is weird too.

Plus he’s just feeling very good in general right now, considering the skyrocketing popularity of the Phantom Thieves and literal heist-in-space they pulled off yesterday. So this very hot, very strange, very dangerous (probably) detective finally coming on to him after months of teasing is just a very _very_ delicious bonus.

“Akira-kun,” Akechi chuckles, pulling away and giving him a look like Akira has done something wrong and has no brain, which he doesn’t. He usually does, but definitely not right now. Akechi’s lips are red and his hair is messy and _Akira_ did that. “I asked you a question.”

Oh. “Um. Yes. Yeah,” he nods stupidly.

Akechi’s lip quirks up. “Good,” he says, then shoves Akira into the back of the couch and clambers directly onto his lap.

Akira leans back further, away from him out of surprise and reflex because holy—

“Oh, Akira,” Akechi sighs against him, _his_ , though Akira has no idea what he’s doing, doesn’t know if he did anything at all, thinks he’s been more of a frozen dummy than an active participant.

But he must have done something, though, because Akechi is acting like… like he’s never felt anything better. All because of Akira.

Akira flexes his fingers against Akechi’s waist, takes another breath full of Akechi’s scent. “Akira…” Flowers and sweetness, Akechi, _his_. He’s starting to feel…

Akechi smells so _good_.

Akechi rolls their hips together and Akira’s body responds completely involuntarily, thrusts back so hard Akechi actually yelps, nearly falls off his lap, which gives Akira the chance to grab Akechi in a firmer grip, really dig his fingers into muscles and jutting bones. He buries his face into Akechi’s neck, finds that… that incredible spot. The one that’s calling out to him.

“ _Ah, that’s right—Akira—_ ”

Old fantasies come back to him in full force—the hazy dreams he had as a young alpha. Lusting after some faceless, writhing, dripping omega to satisfy and ruin. Now that omega has a face and it’s Akechi’s, and has a scent and it’s Akechi’s, and…

“ _Come on, Akira, don’t hold back—_ ”

Akechi is his. He can take him. He’s going to strip Akechi bare, pin him down on this couch with sexual prowess Akira will definitely start displaying any second now and he’s going to fuck him until he cries.

“ _Do it—_ ”

Akechi is _his_. He’s going to throw Akechi onto his bed and—oh god, he’s going to claim him right now, he’s going to knot him, bury himself deep and never let him go because Akechi is on his lap, neck bared and beautiful, begging for Akira to bite him, he _belongs_ to Akira. For some stupid reason he’d always thought Akechi would hate that but now—

But now…?

“ _Do it, A-Akira—_ ”

Akechi would hate that.

Something inside Akira starts to panic. 

Something is wrong. Some instinct beyond instinct—

“Just do it, Kurusu,” Akechi says against his ear, his voice hoarse and small and… “you stupid f-fucking animal” …scared?

Terrified.

Akira blinks his eyes open, finds himself on his couch, in his attic, Akechi on his lap. His teeth are grazing Akechi’s bared neck. All he has to do is bite down.

Akechi would hate this. Akira feels like he barely knows Akechi sometimes but he knows that for sure.

What the hell is Akechi doing? What the hell is _Akira_ doing?

Akechi is quiet now, perfectly still, save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest against Akira’s. His neck is still there, still waiting. His pheromones, sweet and delicious and oh-so-tempting, are still curling around both of them like a siren’s song but Akira can smell it now—that faint, sour undercurrent of fear.

Akira wrenches himself away from Akechi’s neck. He immediately hates himself.

“Akechi…? What…” Akira tries to ask, but his mouth is dry and he doesn't quite remember what words are.

Akechi’s answering smile is blinding. He looks perfect and beautiful, seated on Akira’s lap like it’s a throne. The hand against Akira’s bicep trembles. “Is something wrong, Akira-kun?”

Akira peers at him closer. He’s thinking a little more clearly now, though… just a little. He’s never been drunk but he imagines it was a little like whatever the hell that was. God, he still really fucking wants to bite Akechi.

“What are you doing?”

“Doing? Akira, I’m— _ahem_ —I am,” Akechi says through his fake-ass smile. His chest is still heaving, obvious now that Akira’s breathing has calmed. “I could ask you—I could—I—”

And then Akechi _purrs_.

They both freeze.

It’s an adorable, broken little sound, one Akira has never heard from him before. Akechi looks as surprised as Akira—laughs nervously then, coughs into his fist, clearly trying to cover it up. 

He’s silent for another moment before he gasps out, “I’m _fine_ ,” like he’s dying and then the purring comes back again. Even louder.

“Akechi?”

Akechi doesn’t answer this time. He just purrs and shakes and bites his lip so hard it starts to bleed. 

It’s that terrified miserable silence, of all things, that makes Akira remember he’s an alpha. Which is a really stupid thing to remember after nearly being tricked into mating with his very clever and dangerous rival for god knows what reason.

Akechi is very conveniently still on Akira’s lap, so he just gathers him up, shivering mess that he is, hugs him to his chest. He’s solid and warm, the two of them fitting together now in a way they hadn’t at all before despite Akechi’s frankly herculean efforts to pretend otherwise. And Akechi doesn’t struggle against him either, just falls limp, which Akira decides to take as a good sign.

Akechi’s neck is… oh, it’s still there. It’s still his. Waiting for him. Later.

Akira purrs. Breathes deep and slow. Matches the hiccuping pace of Akechi’s frantic self-soothing purrs, then brings him down.

It takes a while. But that’s okay.

Akechi scrambles off of Akira’s lap almost as soon as he’s able, runs away with barely another word thrown behind him. But that’s okay too. 

Because Akechi is his mate.

Akira might have many possible mates in the world—people usually do, even when they aren’t different like Akira is. But none of Akira’s many possible mates would be as weird as Akechi is. 

None of them would act like an omega pretending badly to be a caricature of an omega. None of them would have tried seducing Akira for an as-of-yet unknown reason and then… god, who even knows. Realized Akira wouldn’t do it? Changed his mind? And none of Akira’s possible mates would have then fought so hard against their own instincts that they end up triggering an actual breakdown.

He’s perfect.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I have video footage too,” Akechi announces to Akira and his Thieves, just a few weeks later. Akira stares down at the photos of them leaving the Metaverse and can’t help but wonder if this little bit of blackmail is Akechi’s plan B. A bonded thief would be more agreeable than a blackmailed thief, after all.

“Don’t hold back!” Akechi demands of him again, a few weeks after that. This time Akira doesn’t—fights with all his strength and barely manages to win.

He thinks Akechi was holding back.

“ _DIE!!!_ ” Akechi screams, a few weeks further still. He absolutely was holding back before—not just in their duel but in everything. Goro Akechi loses his fucking mind right in front of Akira and Akira _feels_ it—Akechi’s gaze, his scent, even his stance, they all _shift_.

And then he’s an alpha.

Akira knew it. In hindsight he knew it, he felt it all along. Akechi is just like him.

He’s not alone. There’s someone else like him, he’s not alone.

For all of ten minutes.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Akira thinks about those ten minutes a lot.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Ah,” Akechi says. Akira watches greedily as his shift settles in, as Akechi becomes something different thanks to his new Persona.

Akira has shifted thousands of times himself but he’s only actually seen it happen once. He’d been so overcome with _holy fuck he’s just like me_ that he’d forgotten to pay much attention beyond that.

It’s beautiful. Maybe it’s a little vain to think that, but it’s the truth. Hereward soothes the tension in Akechi’s shoulders. The intensity of his gaze cools to a simmer, no less intelligent or powerful than before. Just more calm.

It looks good on him.

Akechi doesn’t shift as much as Akira does, at least not that Akira’s seen, so he can’t help his curiosity. “Have you ever been a beta?”

“No,” Akechi sighs, adjusts his scarf. “I was born an alpha—I only shifted to omega when it became necessary.”

Akira grins, excitement breaking through the gloom of this awful night. “Me too,” he says. “We never talked about it.”

“Not much to talk about.” Akechi crosses his arms, looks away like he doesn’t care, which might have been effective had he not done this exact move at least four times already tonight.

“You knew about me this whole time,” Akira strides forward, until Akechi is close enough to touch. “But I only just found out and then you…”

“What, upset you’re not special anymore? You’ll get that back soon enough.”

“ _No_ ,” Akira snaps, growl rumbling low in his chest, surprising even himself.

But even as a beta Akechi is still Akechi. He steps forward, growls his own warning right back. “Akira. You promised.”

He promised. Right. That. That’s important.

Akira closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He contemplates a moment then shifts to beta as well. 

Now they’re on the same page, even in dynamic. “I did. I do,” he says quietly, while Akechi stares firmly at the floor with a guarded expression. “You’re not dead, so it’ll be fine.”

Akechi huffs.

Shuffles his feet.

Huffs again, rolls his eyes.

Looks at Akira.

They end up in the attic so fast that Akira thinks they might actually have teleported there.

“You’re a terrible kisser, you know,” Akechi says, even as he kisses the breath away from him, backs Akira up against his poor excuse for a bed.

“Uh,” Akira says, just before he’s overcome with déjà vu. Right, right, he’d gone over their first and last encounter in his head a million times, for various reasons—he meant to be better this time.

“Like a little vacuum, sucking my tongue into your mouth. Stop it,” Akechi continues, obviously not surprised by Akira’s general ineptitude. He busies himself with untying his own scarf from around his neck.

“Vacuums are sexy.”

“Vacuums are not sexy.”

Akira chuckles. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was trying to get you to fuck me before.”

Oh, Akechi was trying a bit more than just that, but best not to argue semantics. Especially while Akechi is undoing the belt on his coat, tossing it to the floor. “And now?”

“Now I don’t give a shit. Take your shirt off,” says the man who Akira had once thought was good at lying.

“You do it.”

Akechi does not. Akira doesn’t bother giving him the chance. He grabs him by his stupid little shirt collar and spins them around, crowding Akechi up against his bed now and kissing him with everything he’s got.

Less suction this time.

He tries to be a bit more artful about it now that he knows he’s being judged (of course he was always being judged, idiot), and tries to be a little more present too—which is much easier now that Akechi isn’t purposely spraying his stupid delicious omega pheromones everywhere to fuck with Akira’s higher-order brain functions.

He thinks it works, because when he pulls away to check Akechi is flushed, his eyes are a little unfocused, and most importantly he is completely silent.

“Better…?” Akira asks, bumping their noses together.

“Mm,” Akechi grunts. “Adequate,” then winds his arms around Akira’s neck and kisses him again.

There’s a certain fable that’s told to beta children. Controversial now, but still very much part of their culture. The gist is that the love of two betas—because betas are the least affected by hormones, pheromones, and general… biological urges—that their love is the truest of all. Because betas are the most free.

Akira is sure it’s not real. Fables are just that, and love can come in any form, any shape. Akira knows because he’s been everything, and his love for Goro Akechi is a constant. But it’s nice to think about, and he thinks the two of them could use a little freedom right now.

Akechi is difficult in all the right ways, beautiful and challenging and so, _so_ warm.

Goro is just the same.

Some time passes.

In some late hour of the night, Akira stretches a languid, satisfied arm across Goro’s bare chest. He presses a kiss to that spot on his neck. Still there. Still his. Still waiting for him. “When this is over and you wake up wherever you are,” Akira murmurs to him as they fall asleep, “come find me.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Goro doesn’t.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s a long time before Akira sees him again. He should have known it would happen here.

Well, not here specifically. Not during a genuinely simple heist of a middle-manager’s office in a small town in the middle of nowhere. But definitely during a heist.

“Took me four years before I was caught in the act by a detective… not a bad run, I’d say.”

Goro sneers, still hiding behind his gun. So Akira keeps his hands held up, hides behind his smile.

These four years between them look good on Goro—he would have settled for nothing less, of course. His hair is shorter, clothes filled out a bit better, and he’s either got lifts in his shoes or that asshole got even taller.

He’s back to being an alpha too, apparently. Cute, they match.

“I’m not a detective, thief.”

“I’m not a thief, _Goro._ ”

“Ugh,” Goro sneers even harder, somehow. He finally holsters his gun which is a relief—Akira was getting tired of pretending it was a real threat. “What is all this, then?”

So he’s playing dumb. Fine. Akira can play dumb too.

“Taking what’s rightfully mine,” Akira says. He turns his back on Goro, flips through the filing cabinet where he’d left off, and pulls out a folder on one _Akira Kurusu_ —one of the last remaining pieces of physical evidence that point to his involvement with Shido’s conspiracy and the Phantom Thieves.

Goro was here for the same exact thing, for Akira’s sake, but Akira doesn’t need to call him out for that right now.

Later.

“Well, if it’s all the same to you I’ve got what I came here for,” Akira says, shaking the folder in his grasp at Goro’s face before slipping it into his backpack. “So I’ll be going now. Nice to see you, Goro.”

Akira breezes past his absentee mate, bumps their shoulders very purposely as he goes. It’s not easy—Goro is right there, he’s _here_ , beautiful and challenging and so, so warm just the same as Akira remembers. His alpha scent takes Akira straight back to January, 20XX.

January, the Metaverse, and Goro Akechi in that tight little candy cane outfit. God damn would Akira like to see him in that thing now.

Anyway. He turns out of the office, continues his way down the hallway, even reaches his exit window and climbs out into the forested area below before he feels Goro Akechi start to follow him. Hunt him.

Being hunted by an alpha, as an alpha… it raises his hackles, puts every cell of his body on edge. 

He tries his level best to keep his breathing even and his instincts under control—even contemplates shifting to his beta dynamic to deal with it. But if Goro won’t shift, neither will he.

As usual, it’s perfect.

Akira makes his way silently through the pitch-dark forest, grateful for the coverage of the summertime tree canopy and night sky. It’s a far cry from his usual scene—Akira hasn’t made his way out to the country for a while—but it’s certainly more convenient escaping here than trying to dodge drunks and red-light cameras everywhere.

Though he could do without all the fucking twigs he keeps stepping on.

“Are you an elephant?” a voice calls out to his left. “Or a newborn giraffe, perhaps?”

Shit. No, wait, Akira wanted Goro to follow and find him. But he wanted to do it in a cool way.

“Why don’t you come over here and find o— _ow!_ ”

Akira quickly becomes acquainted with the forest floor, and Goro Akechi’s—leg? Arm? Whatever it is, he grabs it, flips them around. Gets an entire two seconds of satisfaction, staring down in triumph at Goro’s shocked expression, before Akira meets the ground a second time and is the one staring up at Goro instead.

Which is just where Akira wants him. This is his mate, after all. He’s not letting him get away so easily.

“What the hell are you plotting, Kurusu?”

“Me? Plot?” Akira pouts.

Then he kicks out a leg, wraps it around the back of Goro and drags him down to land completely on top of him with a satisfying “ _oof!_ ”

He grabs Goro by his gorgeous, annoyingly short hair, twists it hard, wrenches his head to the side. “I told you,” Akira growls, frustration and rekindled desire contorting his voice. “I told you to come find me. Why didn’t you?”

“I found you,” Goro growls right back. He takes Akira’s actions in stride, of course he does, slots their hips together instead of attempting to escape. “One year at home. Two years back in that godforsaken attic. Four months on various couches, until you found your current residence in Asakusa. I just didn’t care to show myself.”

Bastard.

“ _Why_ , Goro?”

“Maybe you’re not as good a fuck as you thought you were.”

God, he’s such a dick. “Well it’s been four years, I’ve picked up some new tricks. Wanna give me another shot?” Akira rolls his hips up, can’t help it when a satisfied purr escapes his throat at what he finds. “Your anatomy is betraying you, _alpha_.”

Goro snarls, snaps at him. So scary.

Akira shifts his dynamic to omega, puts on a good show of cowering. “Oh, alpha—”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Goro barks.

Akira’s jaw snaps closed, his heart starts racing and—wait, shit, he forgot about this. Now Akira’s got all those omega feelings roiling inside him, an omega’s scent. And he has an actual raging alpha above him, he has to be careful.

Thankfully it looks like that alpha isn’t unaffected either—Goro teeters, lilts down closer to Akira’s face, scents him. His breath is hot on Akira’s cheek as he murmurs, “you’re—you’re still so…”

Akira switches back to alpha.

“You’re such a _piece of shit!_ ” Goro shouts immediately, fire returned to his eyes like it had never left.

“Not so fun on the other side, is it?” Akira mocks.

“Is that what this is, then? Revenge?”

He really hasn’t changed at all, has he. And last Akira left him he’d come so far… they really do need each other. “You’re my mate, Goro. I promised myself if I saw you again I wouldn’t let you go.”

“I’m not your mate. And you left me in the middle of that office.”

“Which made you chase me,” Akira says—pants, a little bit. It’s getting hard to breathe with Goro surrounding him, the hard length of his cock still pressing against Akira’s. It’s been so long and his neck is… that spot is right there, still unmarked, still waiting for his bite. Goro isn’t an omega right now but he’s still Goro and Akira has been waiting to claim him ever since Akechi trapped him on that couch. “You’re mine, Goro.”

“Then,” Goro swallows, shifts his weight. Leaves rustle, twigs and plant matter crack beneath them. The night is silent and still. “Why don’t you do it, Akira?”

Oh. That’s not fair. Akira didn’t think Goro would pull that move twice.

Akira whines. Closes his eyes. Stuck between Goro’s cock and Goro’s scent—he moves and pleasure makes him weak, he breathes and Goro is there too, all around him, waiting to consume him.

It would be so easy.

_Just do it, Kurusu, you stupid fucking animal._

“I— _ah_ , I knew you were alive,” Akira moans out instead.

Goro faces him again. “What?”

“I knew you were alive, you dumb asshole. You make monthly donations to bail funds, you get calls from Sae Niijima on the status of your father’s death sentence, you live in a two-bedroom apartment in Osaka and you’ve been there the last 18 months. You’re here tonight to destroy the same exact documents I was because you keep finding secret little ways to pay me back and you keep thinking that _I won’t notice_.”

“You fucking knew,” Goro repeats. “Well, then. Did you enjoy making a fool out of me? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“I did!” Akira snarls up at him. “I told you, four years ago I told you to find me.”

Goro looks like maybe he wants to die, which Akira can’t decide is hot or not. “This base sort of sentimentality is exactly wh—”

Akira headbutts him.

“ _Ah!?_ ” Goro jolts backward in shock, gasps in pain before recovering quickly, launching forward with a definitively hot howl. They tussle on the ground a bit, kicking and scrabbling and getting generally more covered in leaves and forest crap before Goro slams Akira right back down where he had him before.

“You want me, you piece of shit?” Goro yells in his face. “Then get over yourself and claim me!”

“ _No!_ ” Akira roars right back. “That’s the whole fucking point Goro— _you have to do it first_.”

The low growls that have rumbled in Goro’s chest since Akira attacked him cease altogether. He releases Akira’s arms from where he’d pinned him above his head, falls closer to him again, bright red eyes hovering just inches above Akira’s own. “You want me?”

Akira has chosen the dumbest mate in the entire world.

He can smell the desperation on him—the truth, unmasked by rage and adrenaline. He’s close, so close.

Akira tilts his head to the side, cheek pressed against dirt and stone. His heart is racing in his chest, ready and frightened. “I want you to choose me.”

“Akira,” Goro gasps, falling forward even further like he’s in a trance. His hips start to rock against Akira’s—the desire in his scent turning all-consuming now that Akira has, apparently, allowed it. “ _Akira._ ”

Akira has his hands free again, so he makes himself useful and shoves them down between the two of them, where he and Goro should be connected but aren’t because they’ve apparently chosen to do this in the middle of a fucking forest and lube doesn’t grow on trees. He makes quick work of his and Goro’s pants—Goro being no help at all now that he’s discovered the junction of Akira’s neck and shoulder—and pulls them both out.

“Akira,” Goro whines again, pitching up beautifully as Akira starts to work them both with his hand. “Mine.”

“Ah, that’s right, come on,” Akira keens, head still stuck turned to the side, rutting against the hot, perfect friction of his hand and Goro’s cock. His pace quickly turns frantic—he’s waited far too long for this. “Come on Goro,” he growls, with all the innate command of an alpha. “Don’t hold back!”

Goro buries his face entirely in Akira’s neck.

Ruts against him one, two, three times.

Then bites.

Akira gets one blissful moment of shock that Goro actually fucking did it—and then the pain sets in and he gasps for air, hands releasing their cocks and scrabbling at the back of Goro’s head instead to press him in deeper, harder.

A high, keening moan is echoing in Akira’s ears but he’s not sure if it’s him, or Goro, or the both of them.

Through the haze of bonding, sex, and blood dripping down the back of his shoulder, Akira’s eyes catch on the smooth expanse of skin in front of him. Still there. Still his. Still waiting for him.

Akira lurches forward and bites.

Goro screams against Akira’s shoulder, still latched on, and ruts furiously against Akira’s body. Blood and scent and skin and Goro fill Akira’s senses completely, the satisfaction of having finally taken his mate curling around him like a balm. Goro is saying something—muffled, since he’s still attached to Akira, but it has to be “ _mine_.” Over and over. “Mine, mine, mine, mine,” which is what finally pushes Akira over the edge, coming with a low groan against his and Goro’s stomachs.

Goro whines and seizes above him. Akira faintly registers a new heat and wetness as he comes as well.

Then all is quiet again.

Detaching is… painful.

Akira has been chasing after Goro’s bite for so long that he kind of doesn’t know what to do now that he has him. And even besides that, it’s just straight up actually pretty fucking painful. It turns out mating bites hurt the same as regular bites—who knew?

“You’re…” Goro takes a moment to catch his breath, flutters his fingers along Akira’s shoulder, around his fresh mark. “You’re bleeding. Quite a lot.”

Well, so is Goro. That’s what happens when you bite someone. Akira examines the mark he made in turn, pushes away Goro’s nerdy little collared shirt, soaked in red now, and oh. “Oh fuck. Shit, that’s really deep.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The sun is just starting to rise when Akira and Goro shuffle out of the local hospital. It would almost be beautiful, if they weren’t still covered in dirt and blood and cum and didn’t have big, white, puffy bandages strapped to their necks to cover up their fresh stitches.

“We should have just let ourselves die in that forest,” Goro grumbles.

“Yeah,” Akira agrees. “Want to grab a coffee?”

Goro did actually bite him first, which Akira will forever be surprised about, so the very least Akira can do in return is be the one to ask him out.

“Alright. I could use a cup,” Goro sighs. Then smiles. “Do you know a place?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Some more time passes.

Goro stays.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sometime in the spring, Ryuji and Makoto hold a small wedding to celebrate their recent bond—something that somehow took even longer to happen than Akira’s bond.

Akira and Goro are sipping on a beer and a virgin dirty martini respectively when Akira suddenly sees his whole future in front of him.

He doesn’t know why it hits him then. After a few years alone and a few years with Goro he really should have figured this out earlier. It’s just something about weddings, probably.

“Is this it for us?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Mm?”

Akira waves his hand at the happy couple, dancing amongst friends old and new. Ryuji is about to attempt a backflip for the third time of the night, which Akira has decided is half because he really wants to do a backflip, half because it makes Makoto laugh when he inevitably fails.

“Dating, jobs, a little bit of petty crime on the side, marriage, a house…” Akira trails off, doesn’t dare say the last item on his list.

“You call exposing our fraudulent Chief Cabinet Secretary petty—”

“Sh!” Akira dramatically claps a hand over Goro’s mouth, spills a little of his beer in the process. “ _It’s a cop wedding,_ ” he hissed loudly.

Goro makes a face at him, then licks his palm.

“Gross. That’s basically straight olive juice you’re drinking, you have no rights,” Akira says as he wipes his hand off on his pant leg.

Goro just chuckles and takes another sip of his rank drink, which is nice. Akira likes Goro as an alpha, Akira always likes Goro no matter what, but Akira likes Goro as a beta too. There’s something calm and steady about him, a solid rock amidst Akira’s storm.

He probably shouldn’t tell Goro he pictures him as a rock.

“What do you think, though?” Akira prods again.

Goro smirks. “I thought I had no rights.”

“C’mon.”

“I think…” lights flash across Goro’s face as the music switches to something faster. More stomping and yelling on the dance floor ensues. “I think I want to go to Croatia.”

Akira blinks. The music is pretty loud now, so— “what? Croatia?”

“Yeah,” Goro says. “Dubrovnik.”

Akira stares at him some more. Then bursts out laughing, spilling even more of his beer. “W-why?”

“Don’t know!” Goro shouts over the music. “Are you going to come with me?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


They go to Croatia.

Then they fly to Peru.

Then to Italy, which they really might have planned a bit better if they’d planned anything at all.

They travel for two years—switching countries and jobs the same, easy way they do Personas and dynamics. They have some weddings along the way—Goro asking “do you want to get married?” every few months the same way anyone else would say “do you want to get takeout?”

They see a lot of the world. Not nearly enough to say they’ve seen most of it, but enough to get their fill. Enough to decide to return to Japan and stay a while, because it turns out they’re as happy at home as they are anywhere else, so long as they have each other.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Akira Kurusu is an omega.

He isn’t always an omega. Sometimes he’s a beta, sometimes he’s an alpha. But he’s been enjoying himself as an omega recently.

His husband is… an alpha right now, Akira’s pretty sure. An alpha the last time he saw him, at least. Sometimes his husband is a beta. He’s never an omega, and Akira knows why.

He and Goro have made themselves a good life in a comfortable, safe home—a nice condo in Shibuya, large enough for the two of them to live comfortably. Nice big windows with a view of the city. Plenty of excellent nap spots, Akira spent a lot of time on those.

He also spent a lot of time on the bedroom. Picking out the comfiest mattress, the fluffiest pillows, the softest blankets.

Speaking of—that furry one, the one with the soft underside, Akira wants that one. He sits up, blinks a little sleep from his eyes, just enough to spot a corner and grab hold of it, pull it up toward him. And the corded one, he grabs that one too, snuggles further down in the fluff.

It’s shaping up to be a perfect morning. Light streaming in through the window, no work today, no responsibilities to deal with at all.

Goro does have work, though, he’d have left hours ago. Akira grabs Goro’s pillow, adds it to his pile, then changes his mind and presses his face directly into it.

God, it smells so fucking good. His mate smells so fucking good. Made for Akira.

His hand is on his cock before he can muster the morning’s first coherent thought, stroking himself lazily as he huffs lungfuls of his husband’s scent.

“Goro,” he groans, missing him desperately. Akira bites the pillow, ruts faster into his fist. “ _Goro_.”

When he comes it doesn’t feel like relief—there’s something inside him that’s burning, that needs more. He grabs every blanket and pillow he can reach, raids Goro’s dirty laundry and adds those to his pile, buries himself in workout clothes and boxer briefs and so many fancy little collared shirts and sweater vests but none of it is enough, none of it is his Goro, his husband, his mate.

He’s three fingers deep in himself, slick dripping down his wrist, when he hears footsteps in the hall outside their front door. Goro’s footsteps—that’s Goro, _Goro_.

And that’s when he finally has this morning’s first coherent thought: _oh no_.

Oh no. Goro is back from work early. And Akira has made an enormous mess of… of everything. Of himself. Oh no. He grabs a tissue off his nightstand, frantically wipes his fingers off with a tissue, throws the thing down on the floor with the others. Looks in despair at the rest of it—pillows and blankets and clothes and before he can chain two thoughts together about what to do about it, Goro is standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

“Holy shit, Akira,” Goro says.

Akira whimpers, writhes under the sheets covering him because he’s still hard and still wet and his mate is right there and he wants, wants wants wants _wants_.

Goro steps into the room, then immediately backpedals and slams this back against the far wall. “Akira—Akira, when was the last time you shifted?”

Akira doesn’t understand why his mate is staying away from him. Well, he kind of does—his mind clears for half a second, realization dawning on him, then fogs again before he can remember out what he figured out.

“Akira, how long have you been an omega?”

“Shit,” Akira shivers, “uh—a long time.”

“Over a month?”

“Longer. Haven’t shifted since—that job in Kyoto,” Akira groans, rutting absently against one of his pillows.

“You’re in heat, Akira,” Goro chokes out, like he’s finally gathered the strength to say it out loud.

Oh. That was the thing Akira realized. “But that’s impossible. I’m thirty years old, I’ve never had a—”

“ _You’re in heat, Akira_.”

Akira sits up, sheets and blankets pooling on his lap. The cold air of their apartment hits his bare chest and… okay maybe he is a little overheated, technically. Maybe he’s having a little trouble catching his breath, maybe he wants his mate to stop trying to disappear into that far wall.

“I’ve been an omega for longer than this before, I’m not in heat, why are you even here if you’re not going to fuck me?” Akira whines.

“They sent me home,” Goro says, crossing his arms and looking away like he always does.

“Why?”

Goro pouts.

Oh—oh, how the tables have turned. “How long have you been an alpha, Goro?” Akira asks, contorting his voice into his best impression of his husband.

Goro closes his eyes. “This is my fault,” he murmurs. “My director said she could tell I was starting my rut, she sent me home so I could be with you.”

Okay. So, yes, pretty high probability that Akira is actually in heat, maybe. Akira grins, “so you _are_ here to fuck me.”

“No. We need to separate,” Goro announces, letting his long stride take him across the room, always staying as far away from Akira and the bed as he can. “You’re not on birth control.”

Panic wells up in Akira’s chest—he can’t go, he can’t leave, he’s his mate, Akira needs him. “I don’t know if I can even get pregnant,” he says quickly.

“We didn’t know you could have a heat either, I’m not risking it.” Goro pulls down a suitcase from the top of their closet, starts throwing clothes into it. “I’ll get a hotel, you can stay here.”

No. “Goro. Goro.” One more time. “Goro!”

“ _What!?_ ” Goro snaps, more of a growl than a word.

“I want you to stay.”

“What?” Goro repeats, doesn’t look at him. Tosses a few ties into his suitcase, though Akira can’t imagine he’ll need them while he’s all alone locked in a hotel room, half out of his mind in rut without his mate. “No, you don’t,” Goro says.

“Don’t tell me what I mean.”

“It’s the heat talking.”

“It’s not.”

“ _It is!_ Don’t do this to me, Akira,” Goro snarls, finally looking him in the eyes. He looks out of control, wild in a way Akira hasn’t seen in a very long time. “It’s the fucking heat—just shut up and let me go!”

Akira stops.

Goro takes a breath. Continues to pack.

And it’s that terrified miserable silence, of all things, that makes Akira remember he’s an omega.

He digs around in his nest until he finds one of Goro’s boxers, throws them on and climbs out of bed. Pads his way over to where Goro is still packing… a swimsuit now. Goodness. Did he even grab pants yet?

“Stay away from me,” Goro rasps out. “I can’t control myself.”

Akira sighs. Gestures for Goro to meet him the rest of the way. “Yes you can. Come here.”

Goro closes his eyes. Drops the swimsuit into his suitcase. Shuffles over to Akira like a man walking to the gallows.

It’s a good thing Akira spent most of the morning fucking himself with his nose buried in a curated selection Goro’s strongest scents because it turns out—yes, it’s very obvious that Goro is an alpha starting his rut. His scent is almost completely overpowering… almost.

Akira holds Goro close to his chest, tucks his head into his shoulder, right next to his old, stitched up, scarred over mark. Starts to purr.

It doesn’t take long for Goro to answer, match him. Low and rumbling. Perfectly in sync. “I want you to stay,” Akira says. “You don't have to, but I want you to.”

“Akira—”

Akira lets him go, tilts Goro’s chin up to look at him. “I want—I meant to talk to you about this, I really did, I was going to, but I thought you didn’t—” Akira swallows nervously. His purring stutters, then resumes. “I thought you didn’t want kids so…” Akira trails off at the devastated look on Goro’s face.

“I thought _you_ didn’t want kids,” he whispers.

Akira has chosen _the dumbest mate in the entire world_.

“ _Goro_ ,” Akira immediately whines.

Ten years—ten _years_ they’ve been together, fourteen years they’ve known each other, and still they manage to completely suck at communication. Akira grabs Goro by his tie, drags him around and throws him down into his nest, topples in after him.

It turns out it’s much harder to strip when surrounded by piles and piles of clothes and fabric, an almost excessive amount, but Goro and Akira make do, dropping a few new additions into their nest.

Akira clambers on top of Goro the first chance he gets, settles on his thighs, flutters his fingers gently against Goro’s cock—straining, flushed, dripping. “You’re so hard.”

“Been hard since this morning,” Goro grits out, abortive thrusts jostling Akira in his seat, attempting to meet the friction of Akira’s palm. “Had to jerk off in the office bathroom.”

Oh, that image is going to stick with Akira for a while.

He slides further down Goro’s body, gives the head of his cock a few kitten licks because even a heat won’t stop Akira from being a cockteasing asshole.

“Poor thing,” he hums as Goro thrashes and whines. His cock does seem… bigger. Definitely bigger, Akira can’t be imagining that. “Are you going to knot me, Goro?”

“Ah—!” Goro exclaims, thrusts up so violently he ends up smearing precum across Akira’s cheek. “A-Akira, I’m going to explode if I don’t get inside you. Right now.”

“Explode in a good way or a bad way?”

“Now, Akira.” Goro actually sounds like he’s about to cry. “ _Akira_.”

So Akira has mercy on him. On himself too, really. Thanks to the single-minded zeal in which he’d worked himself up earlier he can take Goro easily, planting a hand on Goro’s chest and sighing in pleasure as he spears himself open on his cock. He’d imagined that having Goro inside him would have some sort of effect on his heat, bringing some sort of relief, but Akira just feels hotter, even more worked up than before.

Which might explain that whining sound he’s hearing. That might be him.

Goro surges up, an expression on his face that he only gets when he’s worried about Akira. He presses their chests together, buries his face into Akira’s shoulder, huffing and moaning while Akira rocks back and forth on his lap, trying to find any angle that will cool his heat.

“Goro,” Akira pulls at his husband’s hair. Goro Akechi usually never shuts up during sex. This is new. “You still with me, Goro?”

He gets an answering whine at that, at least. A shiver runs down Akira’s spine when Goro bites over top of Akira’s mark. Growls in his adorable, muffled, achingly familiar way: “ _mine_.”

Akira remembers all those fantasies he had as a young alpha himself—imagining what it would be like to claim an omega, to fuck them while they whine and cry in pleasure, to knot them over and over, for however long his omega needed it.

His heat spikes further at the thought that Akira is that omega.

“ _Goro_ ,” Akira whispers in his ear. “ _Don’t hold back_.”

Which is all he needed to do—Goro surges forward with a roar, slams Akira’s back into the mattress. “ _Mine!_ ”

Akira tries to gather his bearings, scrambles uselessly for something to hold onto when Goro finally ruts into him with the full strength and power of an alpha and fails to find anything but Goro himself. His heat rises and subsides at once, pooling in the space where they’re connected, and Akira cries out in relief.

“Mine, my mate,” Goro says mindlessly, alternately growling and whining before he decides he’d rather take Akira from behind. 

“Gonna fuck you pregnant,” he mumbles as he maneuvers Akira around, pushes him face first into his own nest, hoists up his hips and starts railing into Akira so hard he thinks both of them might break. “Knot you till you’re full of my children, mine, mine, _mine—_ ”

“Goro—!” Akira cries. His breath hitches pathetically as he allows his heat to overwhelm him—he thinks he comes but he’s not sure when it began, and the pleasure just doesn’t seem to stop. He sinks down into nothing, floats outside his body for a while, face pressed into the comfort of his nest.

And then Goro’s knot brings him back.

Akira didn’t know what a knot would feel like until he does. Goro is still pounding into him, snarling like a wild animal. He bites down hard on Akira’s mark, making Akira cry out pitifully with what’s left of his voice once, then a second time when Goro finally manages to ram his knot inside.

Akira doesn’t think he’ll come back to his body properly for quite a while, but it doesn’t seem to matter. His body knows exactly what to do—pleasurable cramps seize in Akira’s lower half, locking Goro in as he finally comes.

When Akira does return to his body—really returned, has those coherent thoughts he keeps forgetting are a thing—they’re resting together on their sides, still locked together. Goro is snuffling quietly at Akira’s neck.

He takes this quiet moment to catch his breath, basks in the simmering pleasure pulsing in him, just from having Goro inside.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Goro murmurs, low and raspy.

“Welcome back,” Akira chuckles. He reaches a hand back, pets Goro’s hair a bit.

“ _Akira_ ,” Goro says, one of his favorite words, apparently. He hugs Akira from behind, slips a hand down to rest on Akira’s stomach. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. We’ll see.” His heart races a little faster at the thought. “How long do knots last?”

“Dunno, never done this before, we’ll see” Goro grumbles, peppering kisses along Akira’s shoulder. He rocks gently inside Akira, and Akira is… happy. Just quietly, genuinely happy.

He’s been happy for a while now, actually, and he thinks Goro is too.

“We’ll figure it out,” Akira says. He turns and kisses Goro on his nose, answers his adorably loopy smile. “We always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> that’s a wrap on kinktober 2020!
> 
> tyty all for your support—i made this account because my irls are writing fic now and i didn’t want to bury them under a veritable sea of porn in case they ever made the terrible decision to check out my main, but i never expected this kind of response!
> 
> i’ll probably still post stuff here but if you want more fics by me my other account is [shouldbeworking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeworking) (though it seems most of you have figured that out already…)


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